It Was Time
by Mish
Summary: After years of patient waiting on Tol Eressëa, Frodo finally meets up again with his dearest of friends...


Author's note:  
  
The characters (which are basically Frodo and Sam, with a few references to others) are Tolkien's, of course. No slash is intended at all; I personally cannot stand reading slash much less writing it -- especially between Frodo and Sam. Therefore, all signs of affection are purely out of friendship, nothing more.  
  
I wasn't sure what category this would be under, so I just put it under General. I don't normally write because I'm not really that great of a writer (in my opinion), so I'm stepping out a bit to post this... :)  
  
Also, one other thing I'd like to note: in this story, Frodo and Sam do not show signs of aging – physically, anyway. I personally do believe that they age in the Undying Lands. From what I understand of what Tolkien has written, a mortal going somewhere like Tol Eressëa does not become immortal; they still die as Ilúvatar intended ("the gift of Ilúvatar") and go to that special place He made for them. I just wrote Frodo and Sam as appearing young again because that's how it ended up coming out of my head. ;)  
  
*-*-*-*-*  
  
The waves lapped the shore lazily. Frodo sighed as he gazed out at the sea. The rhythmic sound was quite soothing, and the late afternoon sunlight glinted off the water, causing him to squint and tilt his head away. The gentle, aromatic breeze and soft birdsong wafting from the island behind him only added to his sleepy mood. He lay back onto the sparkling beach and dug his fingers and toes into the warm sand. This was a special place—his own part of the beach where he could be alone to think and to watch. He came here often. Turning onto his side with the sun warming his face, Frodo slowly closed his eyes and felt himself slip into a dream...  
  
Something roused him suddenly from his sleep, and he snapped into an upright position. Staring out across the water, Frodo tensed, alert. What had it been? He could see nothing unusual, and there was no other sound but the waves and the wind and the birds. There was something, though. Frodo sensed it. It was not evil; he felt no fear. But something was coming. Something very important.  
  
He shook his head. "I must have been out in the sun too long," he muttered to himself. "Perhaps I should go inside." As he rose to leave, he shot one last glance over the sea. Then he saw it. It flashed brightly as the sunlight reflected back to him, and for a moment Frodo was reminded of the phial Galadriel had given him. His fingers brushed the cloth concealing it where it lay near his heart. The story of Eärendil rushed to his mind, how he was doomed to forever sail through the heavens with a Silmaril fastened to his ship as a light. Frodo focused on the object out in the water. When he could finally discern what it was, he gasped.  
  
A ship! Surely—! No. Frodo laughed at the thought. It was not Eärendil. The gleam faded as the vessel drew nearer; and the ship, although beautiful, was nowhere near grand enough to have bore him. Plus, why would Eärendil come here? Frodo took a few steps toward the water. Who could it be, then? Other ships had come into the harbor since Frodo himself had arrived over sixty years prior. They had mostly contained Elves escaping Middle-earth. This was probably just another one of those. But that feeling... Frodo stopped short. Could it be?! He spun around and dashed down the path to where the ship would dock.  
  
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He stood several feet away from the dock, staying out of the way of the Elves preparing to bring the boat in. However, as the ship drifted nearer, Frodo found himself wandering out to the far edge of the platform. The ship pulled into the harbor. It was very similar to the one he had ridden here, to Tol Eressëa. It wasn't until he began gasping for breath that Frodo realized he had been holding it. His eyes scanned the faces onboard. Sure enough, Elves were coming home from Middle-earth. But was he there? He had to be there! It had been long enough.  
  
The Elves poured off the ship, but Frodo did not heed them. He kept searching eagerly for that one particular face. When the number of unloading passengers began to lessen, Frodo felt disappointment creep into his heart. His vision blurred. He ducked his head and blinked quickly several times, trying to keep the tears back. 'Pull yourself together, Frodo,' he thought. 'He's not coming today.' Glancing back up at the ramp, his breath caught. Then he shot like lightning to the small figure just stepping off the end of the ramp and nearly bowled him over in a great bear hug.  
  
"SAM!!! My dear Sam! You've finally come!" Sam gasped in an attempt to reply. "I'm sorry, what was that?" Frodo asked, pulling away slightly to give Sam air.  
  
"I said, 'I'm glad to see you, too, Mr. Frodo!' Leastways, that's what I tried to say," he added. His face was beaming.  
  
So was Frodo's. "Oh, Sam! I've missed you so much." He pulled Sam into another hug. Neither of them made any effort to hide their tears.  
  
After a few moments, Sam spoke up again. "Mr. Frodo, as much as I could stand here forever, perhaps we should move so as not to block anyone."  
  
"Of course," Frodo chuckled as he stepped away. "You haven't changed a bit, Sam. Not even your looks! Amazing!" He shook his head slowly, a slight look of surprise in his eyes. "You look as young as ever, like the old days."  
  
"Isn't it odd?" Sam agreed. "As we sailed closer and closer, it felt almost as if the years just fell off me, if you take my meaning. You look young yourself, Mr. Frodo." Sam looked him up and down. "I guess it's the elvishness of the place. You know how they always seem young and old at the same time? Perhaps some of that has rubbed off a bit on those living here, even if they're not Elves themselves. Though I don't suppose there are many here who are not Elves." Sam took a wide view around. "I hope they've been treating you well. Have you been getting any better?" he added softly, looking worriedly into Frodo's face.  
  
"Eh...well..." Sam had caught him off guard. He glanced away. "Yes." Sam did not like the hesitation in his voice, and he caught a brief hint of pain flashing in those blue eyes. Frodo turned back with a smile on his face. "Come, I'll show you where we are to stay. That is, if you want to stay with me."  
  
"Certainly, Mr. Frodo!"  
  
"Well, then, let us get your things together, and I will show you the way." Frodo turned away.  
  
'We'll have to talk later, I can see that,' Sam thought, frowning slightly in concern.  
  
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"Well, this is a marvelous place, and that's no mistake," Sam sighed happily as he and Frodo lay on the grass that night in front of their home. The house was very hobbit-like, although the setting was definitely elvish. "It's almost like an Elf tried to do his own version of a Shire home," Sam had commented earlier, and Frodo had laughed. It was so wonderful to hear him laugh again. At the moment he and Frodo were stargazing—something they used to do together back in the Shire. Even though trees completely surrounded their hobbit hole, there was a small clearing in front where they could view the stars. "I almost wish I would have gone with you years back."  
  
"Ah, but you were needed at home," Frodo replied, briefly clasping Sam's hand and turning his face toward him. "Don't regret staying behind. Your family was more important."  
  
"Yes, I suppose it was." Sam gazed up into the night sky. "But I still missed you terribly, Mr. Frodo," he said after a pause.  
  
"Oh, Sam." Sam turned his head and saw Frodo smiling at him, his eyes glistening with tears in the starlight. Sam smiled back.  
  
"So, Mr. Frodo..." It was time to ask. "How have you been? Have you been healing here in the Blessed Realm? And you are horrible at lying, so don't even try." Sam winked at him.  
  
"Well, Sam, I can see there's no fooling you!" Frodo chuckled. Then he grew serious. "To be honest, I have, to some extent." He closed his eyes. "But not completely. Not enough." His voice was quiet and weak.  
  
Sam turned quickly to make sure Frodo was all right. He lay still, unmoving. A light seemed to shine from within him, and Sam was suddenly reminded of Ithilien, before they had met Faramir; and of Rivendell, as Frodo lay recovering from his near-fatal encounter with the king of the Ringwraiths; and even of times in the Shire after the Quest when Sam saw the light shine ever more clearly through Frodo. Frodo lay now with his eyes closed, his body tense, and his brow wrinkled in pain. "Mr. Frodo?" Sam called anxiously.  
  
Frodo's expression did not change as he spoke. "I haven't told this to anyone, but...those days still haunt me...October 6, March 25...I still become quite ill, although I do my best to hide it from everyone. And the wound..." His right hand moved to his left shoulder, where the Morgul-blade had pierced him. "It still aches at times. And I have been so lonely." A sob welled up in his throat. "Especially after Bilbo died..." The sob broke out.  
  
Sam's heart broke for his master, and he moved closer to wrap his arms around him. "Oh, Frodo! Mr. Frodo!" He held him tightly as Frodo wept. 'You knew you should have come earlier!' he scolded himself. 'He needed you!'  
  
----------  
  
Sam had already been on Tol Eressëa for nearly a week. Frodo had shown him around part of the island and brought him to see some old friends: Gandalf, Elrond, and the Lady Galadriel. Sam was so awed by the entire place and by all the fair folk that he was surprised his own eyes had not fallen out, considering how they were almost constantly held wide open. Frodo had even taken him to visit Bilbo's grave. He lingered there in silence for some time, and Sam just stood beside him, offering his company for comfort. Now it was nearing sunset, and the two hobbits sat on the warm beach gazing out at the sea.  
  
"This is where I was when I first saw your boat," Frodo told him. "I ran as quickly as I could to the harbor, for I knew someone important and very special was coming." He grinned.  
  
"Aw, Mr. Frodo..." Sam blushed and looked down. He smiled back.  
  
Frodo laughed and draped his arm across Sam's shoulders. "Oh, Sam!"  
  
Silence fell, and the two were left to their own thoughts. Frodo was the first to break it. "Thirteen!" he cried incredulously, recalling a previous discussion with Sam, one started soon after he arrived. "Thirteen children! Wow. I didn't know you would take me that seriously when I said you could have as big a family as you want!" He laughed and poked Sam playfully with his elbow.  
  
"Of course, Mr. Frodo. I always take you seriously." Sam frowned in mock- offense.  
  
"Yes, Sam, I'm afraid you do. And you owe me many stories; you know that. I want to hear everything." Frodo paused, smiling wistfully and gazing across the sea. "I'll bet you love Rosie and all those thirteen little rascals more than anything."  
  
"Yes." Sam followed Frodo's gaze over the sea. "Just about."  
  
Frodo didn't seem to hear the last part. "Why did you leave? I mean, how did you know it was time?" he asked, not shifting his gaze.  
  
Sam looked at him. "I just knew."  
  
"It must have been hard on your family to see you leave."  
  
"It was."  
  
Frodo paused, unsure he wanted to go on. He could tell Sam was becoming choked up. He found himself continuing anyway in an attempt to cheer up Sam a little. "At least the kids still have Rosie."  
  
At that Sam dropped his head. Frodo immediately regretted opening his mouth, for he knew Sam had done that to hide his tears. Frodo started to apologize, but Sam spoke first, his voice heavy, his head still down. "Rosie's dead."  
  
Frodo's mouth fell open. "Sam! I am so sorry! I—" He turned his head away and glared down at the sand, his face hot with shame. How could he feel any worse? "Sam." He embraced his friend. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything."  
  
Sam shook his head. "It's okay, Mr. Frodo. Really. I know she's in a better place." When he looked up again, he was smiling through his tears.  
  
"I still feel terrible about bringing it up," Frodo said, looking away.  
  
"Don't." Sam glanced up at the sky, brilliantly lit aflame by the setting sun. He took a deep breath, preparing for what he had to say next. "You see, Mr. Frodo, as much as I adore and cherish my family, there is one more precious to me that I love, even more than Rosie. It's not the same love as marriage love, if you understand me. It's like a friendship love and a brotherly love but more, much much more. I can't describe it. It's a bond so close not even the widest sea could weaken it. This person means so much to me that I would give up anything, even my own life, for him. And we have been through so much together—everything, even the fires of hell—and I was prepared to give up everything for him. But we made it through, and we have grown stronger. Then we were separated, and I was torn in two. Finally, after many years of waiting, I knew I could no longer live without him. It was time for me to leave."  
  
"Who?" Frodo asked, his eyes still averted.  
  
Sam stared at him. "Frodo, you know." Rarely did Sam say Frodo without the Mr., and when he did, he was serious. Sam continued to stare until Frodo felt compelled to look up at him. His own face was serious; his deep blue eyes, through which you could read his very soul, were wide and innocent. Frodo was always excellent at keeping a straight face. But Sam caught the twinkle in those eyes and the smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Yes, Frodo knew. 


End file.
